>3 



V 



E GUILD PLAYS 




OF THE YARDS 



KENNETH SAWYER GOODMAN 




STAGE GUILD PLAYS 
BACK OF THE YARDS 




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BACK OF THE YARDS 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 

BY 

KENNETH SAWYER GOODMAN 




NEW YORK 

DONALD C. VAUGHAN 

MCMXIV 



Copyright igi4 by 
Kenneth Sawyer Goodman 

All rights reserved ^ , -^ 

BACK OF THE YARDS ^ 



CHARACTERS 

A Priest 

A Police Sergeant 

A Boy 

The Boy's Mother 

A Girl 



Notice: Application for permis- 
sion to perform this play in the 
United States should be made to 
The Stage Guild, Railway Ex- 
change Building, Chicago; and 
application for permission to per- 
form it elsewhere should be made 
to Mr. B. Iden Payne, The Gaiety 
Theatre, Manchester, England. 
No performance of it may take 
place without consent of the 
owners of the acting rights. 

©OLD 39383 

JAN I3i9i5 



k 



BACK OF THE YARDS 

The Scene is the kitchen of a small flat in the 
district back of the Chicago Stock Yards. It 
is extremely clean and neat. There is a 
door at the back into a hallway, and a door 
at the right into a bedroom. 

The Time is about nine-thirty on a warm summer 
evening, and the two windows at the left are 
open, letting in a mixture of street-noises. 

SERGEANT BENNETT, in his shirt-sleeves, sits near 
one of the windows, smoking a pipe and 
reading the evening American, father 
VINCENT, in the dress of a Roman Catholic 
priest, sits in one of the straight-backed 
chairs beside the table in the centre of the 
room. He is evidently thinking hard about 
something unpleasant, and from time to 
time mops his face with a handkerchief 
which he takes from a clerical hat lying 
beside him on the table. 

THE SERGEANT, [taking his pipe from his 
mouth and shaking his head.] It beats hell! It 
sure does beat 

THE PRIEST. Eh? I beg your pardon, Ser- 
geant, I wasn't listening. 

THE SERGEANT. Beg yours, your Reverence. 
The tongue slipped on me. 

(5) 



STAGE GUILD PLAYS 



THE PRIEST, I didn't catch what you said? 

THE SERGEANT. I was Saying, it beats all 
how they come to do it. And them decent kids 
mostly, with good bringing up, too, and fine 
hardworking folks back of *em. 

THE PRIEST. More about it in the evening 
paper ? 

THE SERGEANT. Column and a half. Listen 
here to the headlines, will you? 

THE PRIEST. No. I don't Want to. It makes 
me feel sick and old. 

THE SERGEANT, [laying down his paper.] 
They're calling us dubs. They're after Mc- 
Weeney to shake things up all over the place. 
As if it was his fault! Whose fault is it any- 
how? I've seen epidemics of crime before. 
This here ain't the same thing. It's been 
happening more or less right along. It hops 
up where you ain't looking for it. It ain't new 
and it's new all the time. It ain't like placing 
the blame for regular jobs. It ain't like dealing 
with regular crooks. You can't put your 
finger on it. How the devil — excuse me — 

THE PRIEST. Yes, how the — ? 

THE SERGEANT. They got onc of this here 
last bunch anyhow, and they got him good, too. 
He's at the County Hospital — a kid not more'n 
nineteen with two chunks of lead in him — un- 
identified — he ain't opened his head. Not a 
chance for him. It's all in the — . 



BACK OF THE YARDS 



THE PRIEST. I saw him mysclf this evening, 
about an hour ago. 

THE SERGEANT. Go on with you, now ! You 
didn't know him by chance? 

THE PRIEST. It was Jimmy Reegan. 

THE SERGEANT. No ! 

THE PRIEST. Joe Rccgan's boy, that I gave 
the holy baptism to with my own hands. Red- 
headed Jimmy that I danced on my own knee. 

THE SERGEANT. It's proud you should be of 
him and you sticking up for him always. What 
was I telling you only last week? Wasn't I 
saying he'd be doing his time yet? Wasn't I 
now? And a long time at that. 

THE PRIEST. He'll be doing longer time than 
this State could keep him for. 

THE SERGEANT. What's that you're saying? 

THE PRIEST. He's gonc. 

THE SERGEANT. GonC? 

THE PRIEST. Without the final consolation; 
without a word; without a spark of hope to 
cheer him. 

THE SERGEANT. God havc mcrcy ! 

THE PRIEST. Hush! She's coming back. 

THE SERGEANT, [in a tense whisper] What 
did you get me over here for? You ain't think- 
ing of Michael, surely? 



8 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE PRIEST. Hush, now, and put a quiet 
face on you, Sergeant. It may be that I'm 
only an old fool after all. [Enter MRS. connors, 
a cheerful woman of thirty-nine or so.] It's a 
late hour you're abroad, my dear. 

[The two men rise and the sergeant 
struggles into his coat.] 

MRS. CONNORS. God save your Reverence! 
And you, too, Mr. Sergeant. I'd have been 
back earlier if I'd knowed there was two such 
old friends waiting for me. Think of it, the 
clergy and the police both to once. 

THE sergeant, [with labored lightness] 
Where was you all the time? 

MRS. CONNORS, [taking off her hat] To the 
movies with a friend. [To the sergeant] Don't 
cock a jealous eye on me now, Peter. It was 
with Mrs. Steinbrecker I went, her and her 
cousin, by way of celebrating the birthday of 
her first twins, and them dead, poor dears, 
five years back. [To the priest] Come now, 
Father, don't look at me like I'd done a black 
bad thing. You wouldn't grudge a poor widow 
her squint at the films, would you? 

[She hangs up her hat and shawl.] 

THE PRIEST. God forbid, my dear. They've 
their educational value, doubtless. 

[the priest and the sergeant sit 
down.] 

MRS. CONNORS. That they have. You 
should have seen 'em tonight — clear as the 



BACK OF THE YARDS 



living image itself. The story of the taking of 
Jesse James. That's the bandit out Kansas 
way, they tell me. 

THE PRIEST, [hastily] I know, I know! 
[the sergeant coughs.] 

MRS. CONNORS. [tO THE SERGEANT] What's 

ailing you? 

THE SERGEANT. Nothing. A dry spot in my 
throat. 

MRS. CONNORS. You've been sitting in the 
draught of the window again. [Turning to the 
priest] God save us! You've' the look as if 
someone had laid a cold hand to the back of your 
neck. 

THE PRIEST. I was overheated with running 
for a street car, a while since. 

MRS. CONNORS. That black coat of yours is 
cruel hot this weather. You should get you an 
alpaca thing like Father Weaver wears. Sit 
still the both of you till I fetch a sup of some- 
thing. 

THE SERGEANT. Ahem! Thank you kindly. 

MRS. CONNORS. There wasn't anything par- 
ticular you come to see me about, was there? 
[She goes to the cupboard and takes 
out a large pitcher of cold tea 
and three glasses.] 

THE PRIEST. No, no! We just dropped in 
or a friendly chat with you, Mrs. Connors. 



lO STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

MRS. CONNORS, [setting the tea and the glasses 
on the centre table] Peter's no stranger to be 
sure. Half the nights of the week when he's 
off duty at the station, I have him sitting up 
here with me till I'm yawning my head off for 
sleep. [She goes to a small ice-box and opens 

it.] 

THE SERGEANT. Whist, now! Do you hear 
that, Father? And there's many would say I 
was an amusing man, too. 

MRS. CONNORS, [laughing] There's many 
would say that you're trying to marry me, 
Peter Bennett. It's a black scandal else they'll 
be making about us. 

[She comes back with a small piece of 
ice in her hand.] 

THE SERGEANT, The brass of her! Ain't 
the women hell these days with their notions 
of decency? She'll be asking me to marry her 
next. 

MRS. CONNORS, [dropping the ice into the 
pitcher of tea] I will not. 

THE SERGEANT. Then, I'll ask you again 
myself for the fifth time, 

MRS. CONNORS. Have you no shame — 
before Father Vincent? 

[She goes to the cupboard and takes 
out a white china sugar-bowl and 
three spoons.] 



BACK OF THE YARDS 



THE SERGEANT. Hear her, now! 

THE PRIEST. You might do worse, Mrs. 
Connors. 

MRS. CONNORS, [comlng back with the sugar 
and spoons] Go on! What would I want with 
a husband? I can take care of myself, can't I ? 
What with the money I got in the vSavings 
Bank and what I can make off the shop — and 
Margaret earning her fifteen a week steady as 
clockwork — and Michael coming to be a fine 
man, too. 

THE PRIEST. Aye, and have you got Michael 
a position yet, Mrs. Connors? 

MRS. CONNORS. Almost! 

[She pours the cold tea.] 

THE PRIEST. I've had it on my mind that he 
should have more steady employment. He 
should be making his own way by now. 

MRS. CONNORS. Let the lad find his groove. 
It's no pinch for us to be giving him a bit of 
help yet awhile. 

[She adds a generous supply of sugar.] 

THE PRIEST. It's the danger of idle time on 
a young man's hands that I'm thinking about. 

THE SERGEANT, [taking his glass of tea and 
stirring it carefully] What with crap games, 
and such like, and the dancing they do these 
days in some of the halls, and the bunch of 
loafers hanging around the pool parlors, a 



12 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

saint out of heaven couldn't keep straight 
without he had steady work, Mrs. Connors. 
That's what his Reverence means to say. 

MRS. CONNORS, [passing a glass of tea to the 
priest] Let be, I'm not worrying my head 
over Michael. He's a good boy, Michael is. 

THE SERGEANT. Aye, he should be a good 
boy right enough. 

THE PRIEST. You've been an indulgent 
mother to him. 

MRS. CONNORS. Was it Michael you came to 
talk about after all ? [To the sergeant] What 
are you both fidgeting at? I might have 
knowed there was something special for you to 
bring Father Vincent with you. 

THE PRIEST. The Sergeant didn't bring me, 
I assure you. 

THE SERGEANT, [stalling for time] Make 
your mind easy. It was this way. I was 
coming up here myself when I met his Rever- 
ence in the street below. "Come along," I 
says, "and have a talk with Mrs. Connors," I 
says. "Her flat's the coolest place I know outside 
of a beer-garden." It was nothing else at all. 

MRS. CONNORS, [setting down her own tea 
untasted] Tell me it right out. Has Michael 
been hurt? Are you trying to break the news 
to me? 



BACK OF THE YARDS 



THE PRIEST. No, no, no! Don't alarm 
yourself. 

THE SERGEANT. I give you my word on it. 

MRS. CONNORS. He ain't got himself in any 
trouble? That ain't what you're trying to tell 
me? 

THE PRIEST. My dear woman, I know no 
more about Michael than you do! 

THE SERGEANT. You Couldn't tell us when 
he's like to be home, could you? 

MRS. CONNORS. Then it is him you want to 
see? 

THE SERGEANT. [looking at THE PRIEST and 

beginning to flounder] Well, in a manner of 
speaking. 

MRS. CONNORS. What about? 

THE PRIEST. [coming to THE SERGEANT* S aid] 

I tell you don't alarm yourself. 'Tis only a bit 
of business we have with him; nothing import- 
ant. It can wait. 

THE SERGEANT. Sure it Can. We only 
thought if he came in while we was here we 
might fix it up with him. 

MRS, CONNORS. [tO THE SERGEANT] What WBS 
it? 

THE SERGEANT, [at a loss] Well, his Rever- 
ence was saying— 



14 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE PRIEST. I was Saying to Sergeant 
Bennett that there's to be a grand picnic of the 
Parish schools, Mrs. Connors. Sometime next 
month it's to be, and I thought if Michael 
would help me take charge of the boy's sports — 

THE SERGEANT. Hc's a great hand with the 
kids. 

MRS. CONNORS. And it was about asking 
Michael to take care of the boys' sports at a 
church picnic that you've been pulling long 
faces for a full half hour, was it ? 

THE PRIEST. 'Tis the heat, and other things 
beside Michael and the picnic made me pull a 
long face. 

THE SERGEANT. Couldn't you tell me, will he 
be home tonight do you think, Mrs. Connors? 

MRS. CONNORS. Michacl's gone to Gary — 
where a job was offered him. He's been gone 
about two days now. Tuesday morning he 
went, and he's not sent me word. It's like 
enough he'll be back tonight if the job don't 
suit him, or to fetch him his clothes mebbe, if 
it's what he wants. 

THE SERGEANT. Ah, Well, it's early yet. One 
way or another he might be minded to come. 

THE PRIEST. We'll sit and chat awhile 
longer on the chance he does. 

MRS. CONNORS. You Can sit awhile and wel- 
come, I'm sure, though you did give me a bad 



BACK OF THE YARDS 



turn just now. What with the accidents we're 
hearing of every day and the mischief some 
boys is forever getting into. 

THE SERGEANT. Michacl do havc the way 
of taking his own advice mostly. 

[There is a knock at the door.] 

THE GIRL [outside.] Mrs. Connors, oh, Mrs. 
Connors! Are you there? 

MRS. CONNORS, [rising hastily] There, now, 
what can she want ? 

[She goes quickly to the door and opens 
it. THE GIRL, about seventeen, 
cheaply but somewhat flashily 
dressed, enters, visibly excited.] 

THE GIRL. Thanks! [She looks around as if 
somewhat dazed.] 

MRS. CONNORS. What ails the girl? Ain't 
you going to give Father Vincent good evening? 

THE GIRL, [scarcely noticing the priest] 
Good evening, Father. Oh, Mrs. Connors, you 
got to come with me to Mrs. Reegan's. You 
got to come quick — right away. They can't 
do nothing with her. [the sergeant and the 
PRIEST rise.] 

THE SERGEANT. They've told her then! 

THE PRIEST. Hush, man, can't you? 

[Neither MRS. Connors nor the girl 
notice the priest and the ser- 
geant.] 



I 6 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

MRS. CONNORS. What's happened at the 
Reegan's? 

THE GIRL. It's Jimmy! He's been killed! 
They've just broke it to her. 

MRS. CONNORS. Killed? Jimmy Reegan 
killed? Oh, God have mercy! How was he 
killed? 

THE PRIEST, [trying to stop the girl's story] 
Hadn't you better go with her, Mrs. Connors. 
They'll tell you when you — 

MRS. CONNORS. How was he killed? 

THE girl. Ain't you seen the papers? They 
shot him last night. There was a hold-up 
somewhere over on the boulevards. The guy 
they tried to stick put up a fight. 

MRS. CONNORS. What's this got to do with 
respectable people like the Reegans? 

THE GIRL. I tell you it's Jimmy Reegan 
that's shot. He was took to the hospital. He 
couldn't give no name. Nobody knew who he 
was till Father Vincent and Father Weaver 
seen him there this evening. He was uncon- 
scious. He couldn't say nothing. He died at 
half-past eight. 

MRS. CONNORS, [turning on the priest] Why 
didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me 
and me having knowed Molly Reegan since we 
was girls? What do you mean by sitting there 
like an image and saying nothing at all? 



BACK OF THE YARDS 1 7 

THE PRIEST. My heart was that heavy I had 
to take my own time, Mrs. Connors. I'm get- 
ting to be an old man. 

MRS. CONNORS. You and your way! And 
your heart! And Molly Reegan crying her 
eyes out for her boy! 

THE SERGEANT. Aye, we was getting around 
to tell you. 

THE GIRL. Ain't you coming, Mrs. Connors? 
Ain't you coming along? 

MRS. CONNORS. I'm coming this minute and 
Father Vincent with me. 

THE PRIEST. No, no, Mrs. Connors! Father 
Weaver's there already and Joe Reegan himself. 
That's men enough in one house of sorrow. 
It's women they want now. By your leave, 
I'll stay here with the Sergeant for awhile. 

MRS. CONNORS, [putting a shawl over her head] 
You should come with me I'm thinking. 

THE SERGEANT. There now, my dear, his 
Reverence knows best. 

THE PRIEST. You Can send for me if need be. 

MRS. CONNORS. Havc it your own way. 

[She goes out and is heard clattering 
down the stairs. the girl is 
about to follow her when the 
priest stops her.] 

the priest. Wait a minute, my lass. 



1 8 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE GIRL. Well, what you stopping me for? 
I got to go back with her. 

THE PRIEST. I want to ask you if you've seen 
Michael this evening? 

THE GIRL, [with a quick look at the priest] 
No, I ain't seen him. 

THE PRIEST. Ah, I thought you might have. 
Or today, perhaps? 

THE GIRL. How would I sce him and me 
working at the cannery? 

THE PRIEST. I only thought that you and he 
and Jimmy Reegan were great friends. 

THE GIRL. I was no friend of Jimmy Reegan's. 
Michael wasn't thick with him either. I told 
him to keep clear of him — honest to God, I did. 

THE PRIEST. You showcd good sense. 

THE GIRL. Is that all you want with me? 

THE PRIEST. If you chancc to see Michael, 
tell him I want to talk with him. That's all. 
Tell him I'll be here for an hour waiting to see 
him. 

THE GIRL, [jerking her head toward the ser- 
geant] What's he doing here? 

THE priest. He's Michael's friend. Take my 
word, we know what's best for him. He'll 
come to no harm through us. 



BACK OF THE YARDS IQ 

THE GIRL. [sullenly] I ain't going to steer 
Michael into no pinch. I tell you he ain't done 
nothing. I don't know where he is at that. 

THE PRIEST. Listen to me now, my girl. I've 
a strong notion you'll be seeing Michael for all 
you say. And if it's in your head to be warning 
him against coming home here, it's his living 
soul you'll put in jeopardy, as sure as you stand 
there hearing me. Keep your hands off God's 
work this night and you'll come to thank the 
old man that asked it. 

[the girl goes out. the priest 
closes the door and comes back to 
his chair beside the table.] 

THE sergeant. He'll not come to us now 
with that young fly-by-night waiting at the 
corner to give him the tip. 

THE PRIEST. No. I've faith in the girl, and 
in Michael, too, for the matter of that. I'd not 
be waiting here else. 

THE SERGEANT, [coming over and leaning on 
the table] Can't you speak out, your Reverence? 
You've got in your mind that Michael was 
mixed up in last night's job? 

THE PRIEST. I'm hardly ready to say that. 

THE SERGEANT. But . you heard his mother 
saying he's been in Gary since Tuesday morning. 

THE PRIEST. I saw him last evening. 

THE SERGEANT. The devil you did! And 
where was he? 



20 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE PRIEST. In front of Swarz's Pool Parlor, 
talking with Jimmy Reegan. 

THE SERGEANT, [eagerly] Couldn't he meet 
with Jimmy Reegan by chance and pass the 
time of day with him? That don't prove 
nothing, does it? 

THE PRIEST. It may be that I am only an old 
fool after all, as I said to you before, but I'll 
not be at ease till we've seen Michael tonight. 

THE SERGEANT. I'll bet my stripes on it, the 
boy's done nothing crooked. But if it's a 
scare you want thrown into him, I'm your man, 
and it's a grand time to do it, too. 

THE PRIEST. It's a pity that it always takes 
an awful thing like what has just happened to 
show us the real need. 

THE SERGEANT. The real need of what ? 

THE PRIEST. A change in our way of looking 
at things — our educational systems, our way of 
dealing with the boys in the street, our police. 

THE SERGEANT. What's the matter with the 
police? 

THE PRIEST. It's not for an old man like me 
to say, but I've thought for a long time that 
there was something lacking. You don't seem 
to understand rightly what's best for the boys 
in the street. 



BACK OF THE YARDS 21 

THE SERGEANT. We don't, eh? See here, 
now! Ninety per cent, of the force was once 
just what you're calling the boys in the street. 
Wasn't I one myself? Don't we know the poor 
people and their kids like none of your long- 
haired, down-state reformers can ever get to 
know them? 

THE PRIEST. You know them too well. Too 
many of your patrolmen are stationed in their 
own home districts. They have too many 
friends. Sentiment gets into it too often. 
They're too easy on the small beginnings of 
mischief that go to make the big ends of crime. 

THE SERGEANT. Are you calling me a man 
that would let sentiment interfere with my 
duty? 

THE PRIEST. I remember once when they 
complained to you that the boys were breaking 
windows in Eisenthorp's vacant factory building 
on 46th Street, and Jimmy Reegan and Michael 
Connors were among the lot; I remember what 
the Lieutenant said when the Anti-Cruelty 
people got after him about the way the kids 
were treating the stray cats and dogs in the 
precinct. 

THE SERGEANT. Thcm's little things to be 
raking up against the force surely, at a time like 
this. 

THE PRIEST. You've known for a long time 
that half the pool parlors were running crap 



22 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

tables and three-quarters of the saloons selling 
liquor to boys under age, to say nothing of some 
that sell it to girls. 

THE SERGEANT. You Can't expect a bar-keep 
to spot a lad's age every time, can you? Would 
you have us playing nurse-girl to all the kids of 
the world? Would you have us pinching our 
friends, for the little small things like you're 
talking about, when half the time you couldn't 
prove it on 'em in court if you got 'em there? 
Where would we get off? I know there's laws 
to cover what you've said, but it's up to the 
Department what laws are important to be 
pushed. 

THE PRIEST. What are laws for if they're not 
to be enforced ? 

THE SERGEANT. Ask them that made them. 
Ask the Administration. Don't ask me. I 
take my orders and do the best I know how. 
I'm straight, too. I've never took a cent of 
dirty money in my life, so help me God. And 
that's something to say if I do say it myself. 

THE PRIEST. It is a great deal to say and its 
true I'm sure, Sergeant Bennett, I've great 
respect for you as a man. But it's not graft or 
politics I'm thinking of. There's something 
does more to send boys and girls to hell than 
either of them. It's the rule-of-thumb way we 
go at crime for the most part, making a great 
pother of catching and punishing the old hands 
at the game and letting slip the little things, 



BACK OF THE YARDS 23 

slurring them over, hushing them up, passing 
by all the sprees and gambling and devilment 
that give the crook his start, 

THE SERGEANT. You'rc a fine one to be talk- 
ing; you with the name of being the softest- 
hearted, easiest-going man in the parish, begging 
your pardon. 

THE PRIEST. It's come to me all at once that 
we're both greatly to blame. Sergeant, each in 
his way. I mean to make a new start — with 
Michael, tonight, God willing it. 

THE SERGEANT. I Say again, I'll bet my 
stripes Michael had nothing to do with it, but if 
he had now? Supposing he had? Have you it 
in your mind to help him, Father? 

THE PRIEST. I have, indeed. 

THE SERGEANT. 'Twould put me in a sore 
place. 

THE PRIEST. You'll do your own duty and 
what's right by Michael. 

THE SERGEANT. 'Twould sccm a hard thing 
to make them both go together. 

THE PRIEST. Hush! What's that? 

THE SERGEANT, [in a whisper] I didn't hear 

nothing. [They both listen expectantly. There 

is a slight shuffling outside. The 

door opens and the boy enters. 

He is about eighteen or nineteen. 



24 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

rather too well dressed. He looks 
very drawn and tired, and lets 
one arm hang limply at his side. 
He seems a little startled at seeing 

THE PRIEST and THE SERGEANT.] 

THE PRIEST. Well, Michael? 

THE BOY. Good evening, Father Vincent. 
Evening, Sergeant. 

THE SERGEANT. Back from Gary, eh? 

THE BOY. Yes. 

THE SERGEANT. Job didn't suit you or you 
didn't suit the job? 

THE BOY. Nothing doing! 

THE PRIEST. Good jobs aren't so easy to 
find. 

THE BOY. No. Where's my mother? 

THE PRIEST. She's Stepped out for a little 
while. 

THE SERGEANT. Shc's ovcr at Mrs. Reegan's. 

THE BOY. [sitting down] Of course, I might 
have known that. 

THE SERGEANT. Then you know what's 
happened ? 

THE BOY. Yes. It was all in the papers. I 
seen one of the fellers, too, that heard all about 
it. 



BACK OF THE YARDS 25 

THE PRIEST. It was a terrible thing, Mickey. 

THE BOY. Fierce! Can you tell me, is 
Jimmy as bad hurt as the papers say? 

THE SERGEANT. You ain't heard, then? 

THE BOY. [looking up] Heard what? 

THE PRIEST. He's dead. 

THE BOY. Dead ? Jimmy Reegan dead ? 

THE SERGEANT. That's why your mother's 
gone over to the Reegan's. 

[They are all silent for a moment.] 

THE BOY. [pulling himself together] When 
did she say she'd be back? I've got to see her 
before eleven o'clock. 

THE PRIEST. Listen to me, Michael. When 
Sergeant Bennett and I heard about Jimmy 
Reegan, we just thought we'd come over and 
have a talk with you. 

THE BOY. ]nervously] I don't know nothing 
about Jimmy. 

THE SERGEANT. It wasn't cxactly about 
Jimmy, either. His Reverence was saying — 

THE PRIEST. That it seemed like a good 
opportunity to point out one or two things to 
you, my lad. 

THE BOY. [sullenly] I haven't got time to sit 
here and listen to preaching. I've got to see 
my mother before — 



26 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE SERGEANT. What are you in such a 
rush to see your mother for ? 

THE BOY What business is that of yours? 

THE PRIEST. Easy, now! 

THE BOY. I'm going away from Chicago, if 
you've got to know. I met a feller that was 
here from Denver, looking for men. They're 
short of hands in all the building trades out 
there. I can get a better start and better pay, 
only I've got to go out with him on the eleven 
o'clock train tonight. 

THE SERGEANT. [rubbing his chin with his 
hand] Oh, ho! So you're going away, are you? 
Out to Denver. 

THE PRIEST. Denver's a long way. 

THE BOY. They don't give a feller no chance 
here. 

THE SERGEANT. Maybe you're right. I'm 
not saying you ain't. 

THE PRIEST. Your mothcr'U take it hard, 
your going so far away where she can't tell how 
you're getting on all the time. 

THE BOY. I can't help that. She'll have no 
call to worry about me. 

THE SERGEANT, [with the air of hoping to get 
away from an unpleasant duty] Mebbe you'd 
like a little word with Father Vincent alone, 
if you're going so soon? 
[He gets up.] 



BACK OF THE YARDS 27 

THE BOY. I don't know what about. 

THE SERGEANT, [buttoning his coat] I'll just 
step around to Reegan's. If your mother 
ain't needed, I'll send her back to you. 

THE BOY. Thanks. 

THE SERGEANT, [taking Up his cajp] Good- 
bye, Mickey. 

THE BOY. [without looking up] Good-bye. 

THE SERGEANT, [holding out his hand] Good 
luck to you — in Denver. 

[the BOY gets up, winces a little as 
if it hurt him to move and holds 
out his hand.] 

the boy. Thanks. 

THE SERGEANT. Goodnight to you, Father 
Vincent. [He goes out. the priest mops his 
face again with his handkerchief 
and seems at a loss for what to 
say next, the boy listens as if 
to make sure the sergeant has 
gone down the stairs, hesitates, 
and then seems to make up his 
mind.] 

THE boy. Father Vincent, do you know 
anything about medicine? 

THE PRIEST. Eh? What's that? 



28 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE BOY. Do you know anything about 
fixing hurts; I mean fixing them temporary like, 
bandaging and such, so the dirt won't get into 
them? 

THE PRIEST. A little, yes, I can do that much. 
But who's been hurt? 

THE BOY. [rather desperately] Me. It's 
nothing. I mean it ain't much. 

THE PRIEST. How? 

THE BOY. It was this afternoon. One of the 
fellers out at Gary had a gun. We were fooling 
with it and it went off. 

THE PRIEST, [drawing his chair toward the boy 
and watching his face closely] Where did it hit 
you? 

THE BOY. In the arm. 

THE PRIEST. Why didn't they take you to a 
doctor ? 

THE BOY. [sullenly] We was afraid we'd get 
pinched for having the gun. I tore a piece off 
my shirt. It didn't bleed hardly at all. I said 
I'd see a doctor when I got in town. 

THE PRIEST. But you havcn't. 

THE BOY. I met the man from Denver that 
I was telling you about. I wasn't thinking 
much about it. 

THE PRIEST. Your mother will be back 
shortly. She'd better have a look at it, too. 



BACK OF THE YARDS 2Q 



THE BOY. [taking off his coat with evident 
pain] I'd sooner she didn't know. She'd be 
keeping me from doing what I want. 

[the priest helps the boy with the 
coat, swiftly unwinds the clumsy 
bandage from his arm and 
glances at the wound.] 

THE BOY. Well ? 

the priest. It's worse than you told me, 
Michael. 

THE BOY. [almost fiercely] No it ain't! 

THE priest, [putting his hand on the boy's 
head] I'm afraid it is beginning to fester already 
and you've got a fever, my lad. 

THE BOY. I tell you it don't hurt much and I 
ain't got a fever. 

THE priest. Hadn't you better go with me 
to a doctor? 

THE BOY. There ain't time. I've got to 
catch the eleven o'clock train. It's after ten 
now. Can't you help me wash it and put on a 
new bandage before mother gets back? 

THE priest. [standing squarely in front of 
THE BOY and folding his hands behind his back] 
You were never in Gary at all, Michael Connors. 

THE BOY. [drawing back] Who's told you 
that lie? 



30 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE PRIEST. Nobody. I saw you myself 
last night. 

THE BOY. lfrightened\ When did you see me? 

THE PRIEST. Sometime early in the evening. 
I don't rightly know just what the hour was, 
about eight o'clock I think, and you were with 
Jimmy Reegan. 

[He takes a bowl from the shelf and 
fills it with warm water from the 
kettle on the stove.] 

THE BOY. What if I was? I don't have to 
account to you for where I was all the time, do 
I ? Or who I talked to, either ? 

THE PRIEST. No, I supposc not. But it 
would be better if you could. 

[He takes two clean dish-towels from 
the rack and places the bowl on 
the table.] 



/»! 



HTHE BOY. I tell you I only seen Jimmy for a 
minute. I don't know where he went after- 
wards or what he done. I only know what I 
read in the papers and what's been told me. 

THE PRIEST. Aye, but Tm afraid you do 

know more Michael. I'm sorely afraid you do. 

[He bathes the boy's arm with warm 

water from the bowl and binds it 

up with one of the dish-towels.] 

the boy. What's the good of my talking if 
you ain't going to believe me? 



BACK OF THE YARDS 3 1 

THE PRIEST. Tell me the truth, lad, and I'll 
believe you fast enough. 

THE BOY. What makes you think I ain't 
telling you the truth? 

THE PRIEST. You gave yourself away, Mi- 
chael, the minute you came in at that door. 

THE BOY. How? 

THE PRIEST. By knowing it was Jimmy 
Reegan had been shot and not knowing he was 
dead. His name wasn't in the papers at all. 
No one knew it was Jimmy till Father Weaver 
broke the news to his family. There, now, 
can't you see it's no use lying to me? How 
could you have known it was Jimmy? 

THE BOY. [lying desperately and sullenly] I 
wasn't with him. I had it from one of the 
fellers, I swear I did. I ain't done nothing. 
Can't you take my word for it? 

THE PRIEST. I'd be a happy man this night 
if I could. 

THE BOY. What do you want me to say? 

THE PRIEST, [taking a little cross from his own 
neck and holding it out to the boy] Can you 
swear to me on this, Michael? 

[the boy takes the cross and holds 
it in his hand with his head bowed 
over it, staring at it as if fasci- 
nated.] 



32 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE BOY. [without looking Up] You'd ought 
to take my word. 

THE PRIEST. If you've done nothing, 'twill 
do you no hurt to swear by the cross, lad, and 
you'll ease a poor heart that wishes you well, 
Mickey. 

THE BOY. I — I — 

[He looks up suddenly, his face 
twitching, and reaches for the 
priest's hand.] 

Oh, Father Vincent, you'll not split on me. 

You've had it out of me like I don't know what. 

You've dragged it out of me like you had hot 

pincers in your hand. I'm sick or you wouldn't 

have got it from me so easy. 

the priest, [soothingly] There, there! Go on, 
go on. Tell it all to me and we'll see what's 
to be done. 

THE BOY. [stumbling along incoherently] I 
never did nothing like this before. I've run 
with a bad bunch, I know that, but they knew 
I was straight — leastways straighter than they 
was. They never tried to pull me in on any 
crooked stuff, honest to God they didn't. 
Jimmy was white to me, too. There was five 
of us together yesterday. We got too many 
drinks. I don't know how many. Then some- 
body said: "Let's go to a show," but we didn't 
have no more money. Then, somebody else 
said: "Let's go out and get some easy coin on 



BACK OF THE YARDS 33 

the boulevards." It was all sort of foggy from 
that on. We went somewheres and got four 
guns they had hidden in a barn. Then one of 
them that wasn't very drunk went and sneaked 
a car out of a garage and picked us up around 
the corner. I don't remember where we drove 
to, till we came along side of a guy on the side- 
walk. I didn't think what they was going to 
do, honest to God I didn't. Me and Jimmy 
and the other feller in the tonneau jumped out, 
Jimmy runs up to the guy on the sidewalk and 
shoves a gun in his face. It wasn't even loaded. 
None of them was except the one I had and I 
never took that out of my pocket. Before we 
could say nothing, the guy pulls a gun himself 
and lets Jimmy have it twice. Somebody 
yells "Cops" and we runs for the machine. I 
knew they was plugging at us but we didn't plug 
back. Just as I got my foot on the step some- 
thing hit me in the arm. I didn't think of 
Jimmy till we'd got clear away. We couldn't 
go back for him. The feller that was driving 
the car had nerve all right. He took us out to a 
place in Englewood and ran the car back to the 
garage. It wasn't out more'n an hour. No- 
body spotted that he had it out. That's all 
that happened. 

THE PRIEST. I won't ask you who the other 
boys were. 

THE BOY. [miserably] I wouldn't tell you 
that. Nobody' 11 get 'em. They're safe by 
now. I wouldn't have said nothing to you 



34 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

either, only walking made my arm come on to 
pain something fierce. I wish to God I hadn't 
opened my head. 

THE PRIEST. You shouldn't wish that. 

[the priest has finished with the 
bandage and the boy has man- 
aged to get back into his coat.] 

THE BOY. I do. 

THE PRIEST. Why did you come here? 

THE BOY. To see my mother. I sort of had 
to see her and say good-bye before I went. I 
had to get a little money from her. 

THE PRIEST. Then you are thinking of 
going away? 

THE BOY. [pointing to his shoulder] I got to 
go somewhere. I can't hide this thing around 
here. 

THE PRIEST. You'll go with me now to a 
doctor and then around to the station and give 
yourself up. 

THE BOY. [startled] What are you talking 
about? What kind of a boob do you take me 
for? 

THE PRIEST. It's the Only way you can 
niake things square. 



/ 



THE BOY. [defiantly] I ain't asking to make 
things square. I didn't do nothing. They 



BACK OF THE YARDS 35 

ain't got nothing on me, if you let me alone. 

[He gets up and makes a move toward 
the door.] 

THE PRIEST. [stepping between him and the 
door] You'll stop to see your mother. You'll 
have a word with her. 

THE BOY. No, I've changed my mind about 
seeing her. I'll trouble you to let me by, 
Father. 

THE PRIEST, [holding his place] It's only a 
short way you'd go, Michael. 

THE BOY. What do you mean by that ? You 
wouldn't put them on to me? You daren't do 
it. You wouldn't play me a low trick like that. 
You had it from me like it was in Confession. 

THE PRIEST. Oh, God, why do you tie my 
hands? [He steps away from the door.] 

THE BOY. [with an attempt to smile] I'd wish 
you good-bye, Father Vincent, and thank you 
kindly for the bandage. 

[He holds out his hand to the priest.] 

THE PRIEST, [taking THE boy's hand] God 
go with you, Michael. 

[the boy turns to the door, opens it 
and comes face to face with the 
SERGEANT who Stands on the 
threshold, his hands on his hips.] 

THE SERGEANT. Well ? 



36 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE BOY. [drawing back startled, but still 
trying to face it out, not quite sure that the 
SERGEANT has Overheard] Oh, it's you, is it? 
Did you fetch mother back with you? 

THE SERGEANT. I did not. I ain't been off 
the landing. I ain't had my ear away from this 
door. 

THE BOY. [turning on the priest] Then it 
was a dirty trap you set for me after all — you 
with your fine snivelling talk about being my 
friend. You're a fine priest! You got it out 
of me like it was in holy confessional and him 
listening at the door all the time, with you 
knowing it. It was a game, a dirty low game 
you put on to me! 

THE SERGEANT. Shut your mouth, you 
young ruffian! 

THE PRIEST. Easy, now, Sergeant! He 
doesn't know what he's saying. 

THE BOY. You're a pair of spying Judases, 
the both of you. 

THE PRIEST. Listen to me now, Michael. 

THE BOY. I will not, 

THE SERGEANT. You'd do Well to keep a 
civil tongue and listen to Father Vincent. 

THE BOY. [sneering] What more has he got 
to say to me? 



BACK OF THE YARDS 37 

THE PRIEST. You'll go with Sergeant Bennett 
and me to the station, Mickey, and give yourself 
up. We'll stand by you. It's the only thing 
to be done. 

THE BOY. A fine lot of standing by me you'll 
do. 

THE SERGEANT. Come with me now. 

THE BOY. [desperately] Get out of that door, 
you big boob. 

[He reaches to his pocket and draws 
a gun.] 

THE SERGEANT, [making a lunge for him] 
You would, would you? 

THE PRIEST . [springing between them] For the 
love of heaven, have a care, both of you! 

THE BOY. [covering the sergeant with the 
gun and almost shrieking] Don't you come near 
me! Don't you put your hands on me! 

THE SERGEANT [losing his temper] You young 
devil, you'd not have got the drop on me like 
that if I'd of had my gun with me. 

THE PRIEST. Steady, Sergeant! 'Twill do 
you no good to talk to him like that. [To the 
boy] Give me the gun. 

THE BOY. I will like hell! 

THE SERGEANT, [regaining his coolness] Give 
the gun to Father Vincent, you fool! Would 
you only make things worse for yourself? 



^ 



38 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE BOY. Get out of my road. What call 
have you got to pinch me? They'd have 
nothing on me only for you two. I'll get out of 
town and stay out. Let me off, can't you? 
Who's to know that you done it? Let me off! 

THE SERGEANT, [in doubt] Isn't he mebbe 
beginning to talk sense now, your Reverence? 

THE BOY. [seeing a ray of hope] Let me off 
I say, and you'll never regret it! Honest to 
God you won't! 

THE SERGEANT. [heginning to weaken] It 
would be a hard thing for me to know I'd had a 
hand in sending the lad up to the pen, your 
Reverence. And it's only a small thing he's 
done after all, and little harm intended. 

THE PRIEST. Shame on you, Sergeant Ben- 
nett, for saying that. 

THE SERGEANT. Mcbbc we Can look at 
things different and both of us be right. I 
wouldn't be hard on him. 'Tis the first time 
by his own account. 

THE PRIEST. *Tis not what he's done already, 
but what he'll do yet if we let him go his own 
road with one crime hanging around his neck, 
that I'm thinking about. There's no two ways 
of looking at it. 

J THE BOY. [to THE SERGEANT] Don't yOU 

listen to what he's saying. You always was 
more a friend to me than he was. 



BACK OF THE YARDS 3Q 

THE SERGEANT [shaking hls head] If he only 
hadn't pulled a gun on me! 

THE BOY. Wh6re would you get off with my 
mother? You couldn't pinch me! Not on her 
account, you couldn't! You'd have a swell 
chance with her after that. 

THE SERGEANT, [his pride hit] Let be! You'll 
put down that gun now and come along to the 
station. [He makes a move toward the boy.] 

THE BOY. [drawing back] Stand off, you big 
stiff, or you'll get yours. I give you fair 
warning. 

THE PRIEST. Would you Only make things 
ten times worse than they are for us ? 

THE BOY. [half sobbing] I don't give a damn. 
He'll get out of my road. He'll leave me go or 
I'll give him a dose of what they gave Jimmy. 
He ain't going to stop me, nor you either. 

THE PRIEST. We'd not be your friends if we 
didn't try. 

THE SERGEANT, [folding his arms] By God! 
Father Vincent's right. How far would you 
get before I put in a call? Not far, I'm think- 
ing, with that arm. They'd get you in an hour 
at most. Like as not you'd be fool enough to 
put up a fight, too, and get plugged. They'd be 
none too careful with you, not them. 

THE BOY. Damn you, you've no call to put 
them on to me. 



40 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE SERGEANT. Supposing I didn't, what 
good would that do you? You ain't the one to 
take a lesson from what's happened. I'd only 
be turning you loose to make a real crook of 
yourself. 

THE BOY. There's worse things in the world 
than crooks. There's lying priests and dirty 
scum like you, and — 

THE SERGEANT. I tell you once more, put 
down that gun. 

THE BOY. I'll blow your head off if you touch 
me. 

[the sergeant and the boy stand 
facing each other, each waiting 
for the other to make a move.] 

the priest. Murder's a far worse thing than 
being only an accomplice in a poor attempt at 
highway robbery, Mickey. Have you thought 
of that? No, I don't think you've had the 
time. You're seeing things wrong tonight. 
Put away the fear of disgrace now, and the 
thought of prison. The one will pass when you 
put your hands to clean work, and the other 
will be short. It'll go by like a bad dream and 
you'll come out of it whole, with God's help. 
It's where you're standing now that I'd have 
you see clearly before you put out your feet onto 
the black road of death. There's a pit at your 
toes, lad, a thirsty pit that sucks men down 
under the red bowels of the world. You'll not 



BACK OF THE YARDS 4 1 

come back out of it with murder on your soul, 
nor look at the stars again nor hear your moth- 
er's voice speaking to you; not when the seas 
have gone dry even, or the heavens shrivelled 
up like a bit of dry parchment. 

THE BOY. There ain't no hell. You can't 
frighten me like that. 

THE PRIEST, [patiently] Have it your own 
way. But did you ever think what sort of a 
life a murderer has to drag on with even if he's 
let to live? Not weeks and months of wishing 
he was out in free streets like other men with 
his friends to give him good-morning and good- 
evening, but years, and tens of years of wishing 
and wishing. 

THE BOY. What are you giving me? I ain't 
going to murder anybody. I ain't going to 
hurt him if he lets me be. Leave off clacking at 
me. 

THE PRIEST. Go with Sergeant Bennett, 
Michael. They'll not be hard on you for the 
first offense. 'Tis only just penance you'll be 
doing and, when you're through, I give you my 
solemn oath I'll see that you get an honest 
start in the world. 

THE SERGEANT, [to THE boy] You've heard 
his Reverence talking sense to you. Come 
along with me quiet-like and it will only be a 
year you'll get at most, with us to give you a 
good character, or six months in the Bridewell 
mebbe, with parole for part of it. 



42 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE BOY. I'm not taking any chances of 
what they'll give me. 

THE SERGEANT. Istarting for THE BOY in 
earnest] Come on, you fool, before I break 
every bone in your body. 

THE BOY. [kicking a chair between them] Get 
away from me! Get away, I tell you! 

THE SERGEANT. Would yOU nOW? 

[the BOY dodges around the table, 

THE SERGEANT folloWS and 

grapples with him. the boy 
wrenches his right arm free and 
presses the revolver to the ser- 
geant's body.] 

the boy. [screaming with hysteria] Leave 
go! Leave go, damn you! Leave go! 

THE SERGEANT [grunting with his exertions] 
Cut it out! Drop it! 

THE BOY. [screaming still louder] Let go! 
Let go or Lll kill you! So help me, I will! 

[the priest is trying to drag the 
SERGEANT away. He only suc- 
ceeds in hampering him and add- 
ing to his danger.] 

SERGEANT, [now thoroughly angry and shak- 
ing off the priest] Ah, ha! my beauty! I'll 
get you now ! 



BACK OF THE YARDS 43 

THE BOY. I give you three. I give you three 
to stand away from me. 

THE PRIEST. [wringing his hands] Oh, 
Mary, have mercy! 

THE BOY. [struggling, with his revolver still 
pressed to the sergeant's side] Don't make 
me do it! One! 

[They stand almost still, gasping for 
breath.] 

THE sergeant, [snarling] Drop it! 

THE BOY. Damn you, then, two! 

THE SERGEANT, [their faces are not more than 
a couple of inches apart] Drop it, I say. 

THE BOY. Three! 

[They are absolutely motionless for a 
moment. Then the gun falls to 
the floor with a clatter, the boy 
relaxes in the sergeant's arms, 
sobbing.] 

THE BOY. I couldn't! I couldn't! My 
nerve's gone! 

THE PRIEST. No, Michael, my dear, it's only 
just come back to you. 

[He takes the boy by the shoulder and 
helps him to the chair by the 
table. THE BOY buries his face 
in his arms.] 



44 STAGE GUILD PLAYS 

THE BOY. [sobbing] I'm a coward! I'm a 

coward! I couldn't do it! I couldn't! I'm a 

coward! [the priest pats the boy's shoulder. 

THE SERGEANT Stands beside 

them, panting like a bull.] 

THE PRIEST. No, no, my lad, my little 
Mickey, be easy now! 

[There is a clatter on the stairs.] 

THE BOY. I couldn't! I couldn't! I couldn't! 
[MRS. CONNORS enters and looks 
around, frightened.] 

MRS. CONNORS. For the love of God, what's 
happened now? Tell me, what are you doing 
to the boy? Can't you speak, none of you, and 
tell me what's happened? 

THE PRIEST. Nothing that will do you any 
hurt in the end, Mrs. Connors. The worst is 
over now, God be praised. 'Twill all come 
right in a short while. You've no great call to 
worry yourself. Take my word. 

CURTAIN 



This first edition of back of the yards, printed 
from type by The Lancaster Printing Com- 
pany, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in De- 
cember, igi4, for DONALD C. VAUGHAN, 
New York, consists of one thousand and 
fifty copies on laid paper. 



LIBRARY OF CONGREb^ 
015 897 373 R 



